


The Light in the Grey

by chefke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asshole Church, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Wicca, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chefke/pseuds/chefke
Summary: After the death of her parents, Hermione Granger is now a lowly peasant at the mercy of the Church. When they discover her Wiccan secret, what will she do to stay alive and will it be enough to save her from the grey-eyed monster intent on ravishing her?Thank you to my amazing beta and friend MrsRen!





	1. The Wagon

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Medieval AU: It's a hard life as a peasant, but she knows she was meant for more because she can do things no one else can.

Hermione Granger, orphan daughter of Healers from a small village outside of Redenham, sat quietly with her hands manacled in her lap. Her parents had died the month before whilst trying to stop the plague that was ravaging their small town. When they became ill, she was sent away to the local church. There she was subjected to the cruelest of tortures imaginable. Father Declan left her for days without food or water, tied to a crucifix as he attempted to perform multiple exorcisms.

Her parents never thought she was possessed, just special. See, when Hermione was asleep she would sleepwalk. Sometimes, she would move things with her mind and other times she would cure the sick or heal the elderly. Her parents thought she was a gift from God; Father Declan believed she was a curse.

The townspeople were dying and scared. When Father Declan declared her death to be their salvation, they bought into the lies. Hermione was loaded onto a cart, with two knights on horseback on either side of her, to be sent to the Church in Salisbury south of Wiltshire. Father Declan believed that they would be able to ‘sort her out,’ there. Hermione knew better, she was on her way to her death.

Was it so bad though?

She would be with her parents and her grandparents soon. She would see sweet Dudley Dursley, who was one of the first casualties of the plague. He was also Hermione’s betrothed and first and only kiss. Sure, it was chaste and on the forehead, but she cherished the moment, even more so after he passed.

A jarring thump in the road broke her from her thoughts of the sweet soft-spoken blonde boy with blue eyes so light, she often thought of sea glass. They weren't moving and there were shouts at the front of the wagon. The Finch-Fletchley’s wheat wagon was repurposed as her temporary traveling cell as the entire family had died and there were no relatives to inherit their belongings.

The Church _humbly_ accepted their lands and gold in payment for praying for their departed souls. Hermione and her parents were disgusted that the money had not gone to feed the orphaned children in their village. Her parents had voiced their opinions at a town meeting and were called heretics and non-believers. They fell ill several days later.

The Knights continued to yell at each other while Hermione stretched her throbbing back. They had been traveling since early morning and she ached to run and stretch her limbs. She could if she wanted to, she could outrun the two overweight knights that were appointed the task of delivering her to the church. She may be able to outrun _them,_ but she couldn’t outrun their arrows.

“Whore! Get up and fix the wheel!” Clayton, the larger of the two shouted as he doubled back to the rear of the wagon on his horse.

Hermione sat with her back straight, “Begging your pardon?”

Jasper, the second in the idiotic pairing crossed himself whilst mumbling to Clayton. “I told you shouldn’t have spoken to the witch. She’s cursed us. She’s cursed us.”

Had Hermione not been ingrained from a young age to never roll her eyes, she would have. “I haven’t cursed you, Sir Jasper.”

The tall and rotundus man squeaked and promptly fell off of his horse. Hermione resisted the urge to giggle. Clayton didn’t share his kinsmen’s fear. He turned to Hermione and thundered, “Fix the wheel, you urchin!”

“I haven’t the faintest idea how to fix a wheel. I’m a woman.”

“You’re a peasant is what you are and you know what happens to peasants when they don’t follow orders?” he leered at Hermione, her entire body erupting into goosebumps. She knew exactly what happened to peasants.

Her parents had worked their entire lives so Hermione would never be in the position she was in now. A peasant at the mercy of richer men above her. Even a penniless knight of the Church was infinitely higher than her. While she was in the Church’s prison in her village, she was given gruel to eat once a day. Sister Riley had already warned her what a peasant had to do in order to eat, in order to survive.

Now more than ever, Hermione wished she had been born a man. She would never have been in this position, had she had been a man. A woman could not inherit anything after their patriarch's passing.

While Hermione was sitting in her cell, she wished she had never been born at all. It was as if fate or God was playing some cruel joke on her. As if she was being punished for something she had done, except Hermione knew she had never done anything that was not done in the Lord’s light.

Noticing that Clayton was still leering at her, she pulled her ratty shawl closer to her chest. Her clothes had been taken from her after the Church seized her home. She had been given a plain grey dress that was so worn out, there were holes along the seams at about the hem. She was given a black shawl to go over her shoulders by Sister Riley.

Sister Riley claimed that if men thought her to be in mourning, they would leave her alone and it would protect her virtue. Based on the look in Clayton’s eyes, Hermione didn’t think her virtue would remain intact for very long. Clayton was a man who preyed on the weak and despite her bone shattering fear, she refused to show the man how terrified she really was.

Jasper, who was still praying whilst clutching a wooden cross, was completely oblivious to what was going on. He had yet to re-mount his horse and was sloshing about in the mud. Hermione’s wagon was unmoving as the wheel was in fact stuck in a ditch. Hermione was about to point it out when Clayton began to dismount his horse.

“Jasper! Tie up the horses and fetch them water, we are camping here for the night.”

“Sir, Father Declan said we should not stop. The Lord –”

“Who was put in charge, me or you?”

“You, sir.”

“Get water and feed the horses.”

Jasper tied up the horses to a nearby tree. When he was done, he announced his departure to find water, leaving Hermione alone with Clayton. Thankfully, he mostly ignored her as he removed his bastinet from his head, leaving his body armor on. Setting the shining silver headpiece down, he began to set up the campfire for the night.

Darkness was falling quickly and Hermione shivered despite her resolute decision not to show Clayton any weakness. She could hear Jasper stumbling around in the woods whispering words of prayer to mask his fear. Clayton chuckled when Jasper yelped after stumbling into, what sounded like, a tree. Wiping black hair as dark as pitch from his grey soulless eyes, he scratched two rocks together until they caught fire on the driftwood.

“You planning on staying on that wagon all night, whore?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied stiffly. If she made it to the Church without Clayton touching her she would be alright. She could die a virgin and the lord would grant her into heaven. She would see her parents.

The humorless chuckle from the knight spoke volumes. “Do you really think a bit of wood is going to protect you?”

“It’s against the law,” Hermione stammered. Where was Jasper? He was a good Christian. He would never allow something as horrible as… as… he would never allow anything to happen. Her eyes were wide as she searched frantically for Jasper.

“Looking for the useless idiot? The river is an hour walk behind us. Jasper may be a good Christian, but he’s terrified of witches and demons and he’s convinced you’re one. He’s more likely to burn you alive than save you from the likes of me.”

“The likes of you?” Hermione whispered.

Clayton’s grey eyes lit up, bright in the night. “Knights who take _pleasure_ in war. Jasper fights to protect his family. I fight because I love to _kill._ I _cherish_ the feeling of running through bone and marrow with my sword and watching the life leave my enemies eyes. You think Father Declan knows _power_? He knows nothing. I am a harbinger of death. I am power.”

Hermione met his eyes, bright with arousal. “You’re going to burn in hell.”

He lifted one armored hand and for a moment Hermione feared he would hit her. Instead, he clapped his hands together and laughed riotously. “There’s no such thing as heaven or hell, peasant. Only the dead and the living and those who are foolish enough to buy into the church’s shite.”

Hermione’s head shot upward immediately as if waiting for lightning to strike. Surely, the lord in heaven would never allow a non-believer to besmirch his name? Hermione sat in bewilderment after nothing happened for several moments. A cold, rotting breeze was ghosting uncomfortably across her right cheek.

“Waiting for your lord to save you?” Clayton whispered in her ear. Hermione stumbled backward deeper into the wagon as Clayton towered over her. “There is no one to save you. You’re a whore and whores have only one use.”

Hermione scrambled backward, her bound hands in front of her defensively, until she reached the front of the wagon. She was trapped. He stepped fully onto the wagon, jerking the flimsy thing as he advanced towards her.

Hermione’s body shook with fear. If she ran, he would kill her, or worse capture her and claim she tried to escape after punishing her and then killing her so she couldn’t refute his claim. Even if she did tell people he lied, who would believe her? She was a woman. She was nothing, a nobody.

He unbuckled his belt and dropped it over the side of the wagon. Hermione dug her nails into the iron on the manacles. _If she ran, she was dead. If she ran, she was dead. If she ran, she was dead._

When he closed the last step to hover right above her, she screamed. She screamed until his meaty fingers closed around her throat and she choked. She heard several shouts coming from deep in the forest, but she knew it was no use. They were too far and they’d never get to her in time.

_Daddy!_

Clayton was tearing viscously at her dress. The seams tore with a loud rip that echoed into the dark cold night. The tearing of her clothes and his hands that followed broke her and took whatever dignity she had been holding onto with it. She begged, pleaded, and sobbed as the monster hovered over her laughing.

She swung her manacled wrists at him but he caught them easily and pinned her arms above her head. Her dress was torn open and her chest was exposed. Tears, stung her eyes as she struggled underneath his weight.

“Where’s your precious Lord now?” he sneered as pushed himself onto her.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t do this.”

With his free hand, he slapped her across the face. A bright light burned her eyes and she closed her eyelids tightly. As soon as her eyes closed she felt the weight of Clayton lessen.

Her ears rung and her head felt as if it was going to set on fire. Her ears made loud popping noises that only worsened her headache. She struggled to open her eyes, as she felt darkness overtake her.


	2. Grey Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the death of her parents, Hermione Granger is now a lowly peasant at the mercy of the Church. When they discover her Wiccan secret, what will she do to stay alive and will it be enough to save her from the grey eyed monster intent on ravishing her?
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta and friend MrsRen!

Hermione’s hands were cold when she woke and gently laid atop a white clean coverlet. She blinked in the bright sunlight as she took in the room she was in. Large french windows were open letting in a breeze and a cacophony of noise from outside. She could hear the sounds of children playing outside and the loud chopping of an ax hitting wood.

They also let in light from the sun, something Hermione was grateful for. Having spent two weeks in a dungeon under Father Declan’s orders, left her with a fear of dark and confined spaces. The room was large, well furnished, and immaculately clean. The walls and floors were made of stone and Hermione wondered if she was in a castle.

Placing her hands on the bed to sit up, she hissed in pain. Her hands were bound in white Healer’s cloth. She stumbled out of the bed and over to a mirror in the corner of the room. She looked at her reflection to find she was wearing a long loose man’s shirt. Her jaw dropped at the scandal. What self-respecting girl wore men’s clothing?

Hermione had little time to fret over her attire when she took stock of her battered frame. Her entire body was covered in bandages and she could see bruises poking out beneath the material.

“The wagon exploded, my dear.” Hermione turned away from the mirror to find a stern woman with dark hair bound back in a severe bun, standing in the doorway. She wore spectacles and reminded her eerily of a cat she had when she was seven. “What I mean to say is that you exploded it.”

“I...”

“What is your name?”

Hermione curtsied, “Hermione Granger, ma’am.”

“Are you married, Hermione?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you have a family to speak for you?”

“No, ma’am. They all died in the plague.”

“Pity,” she said not unsympathetically. “You were delivered to the Burrow by a squib known as Jasper Weasley. You will get dressed in the clothes that are on the dresser. I will wait for you outside the room.”

 

The door closed behind the woman and Hermione struggled into a cream colored dress. It was a simple cut like her grey one, but the material was softer and less harsh on her skin. She slipped on her leather boots, one of the only things Father Declan hadn’t taken from her. Hermione tied her unruly hair into a braid and clipped it onto her head before leaving the room.

“Ma’am?” Hermione asked once she was in the hall. The elderly woman was talking to a young girl in an almost identical dress as Hermione’s.

“Yes, come along Miss Granger. My name is Minerva McGonagall, however, you will call me ma’am.” Minerva said as she walked briskly down the hall. Hermione followed trying to ignore the pain in her torso as she walked quickly. They walked for several minutes, up two flights of stairs and down three separate hallways. They stopped in front of a large ornate set of double doors. She knocked once, before walking into the room. 

Hermione stood shocked at the interior of the room for several moments. She had been well off growing up, but this… this was royal. She curtsied and held it waiting to be told to rise.

“Yes, I see what Jasper was saying. She is not the mere peasant we assumed her to be,” said a cold voice. Hermione peaked out from under her hair to see a tall blonde man sitting behind a large desk. An assortment of elegant colored couches was placed around the room atop of richly covered rugs that looked as if they were imported from India.

The paintings in the room were all empty of people, save for one of the man behind the desk with, what appeared to be, his wife and small son. 

“You may rise, Miss Granger.” Hermione straightened her back at the man’s instruction. She sought out the man behind the desk to get a proper look at him and shrank back immediately when she met grey cold eyes. Eyes like that of knight and bastard, Clayton. “There is no reason to be fearful, Miss Granger. You are in no danger here at Malfoy Castle.”

_ She was in Malfoy Castle?! _

The Malfoy family were highborn, that were advisors to the  _ King  _ of England. Hermione’s cheeks burned with shame at her state of dress. Her parents would be ashamed. She curtsied formally this time addressing the lord properly. “Lord Malfoy, thank you for taking me into your home.”

The man leaned back in his gilded chair, “So you have heard of my family?” Hermione nodded. “What have you heard?”

“The Malfoy family is highborn, sir. They are advisors to the current King of England, long may he reign.”

Lord Malfoy and Minerva exchanged a glance. Minerva sat down in a cream-colored armchair. “Miss Granger sit, lest you fall from exhaustion.”

Hermione sank gracefully into a chair adjacent to Minerva and began to read the odd titles on the books that were strewn about the glass coffee table.

A chuckling sound brought her attention back to the other occupants in the room. 

“So she  _ can _ read, Minerva.” Lord Malfoy said twiddling his thumbs in front of him.

“I did tell you it was a possibility.”

“We do need a new tutor for the children before they leave for Hogwarts.” Hermione sat quietly wondering where Hogwarts was and why children were being sent there. “Minerva, you will teach her the basics and I will have Draco tutor her. It won’t do to have the muggles on us because she is having accidental bouts of magic.”

Hermione’s head snapped up so quickly her neck hurt. 

“...Magic?”

“Yes, my dear. You are a witch. A witch with no home it seems. I happen to need a governess to teach the local children to read so they can attend schooling when they are old enough. I will have my son, Lord Draco tutor you to control your magic.”

Hermione stared at Lord Malfoy dumbly, “Magic?”

Lord Malfoy lost his patience and turned to Minerva, “I thought Jasper said she was clever?”

Minerva looked uneasily at the door and then back to Lord Malfoy. In a voice barely above a whisper, she spoke. “She was born to muggles, my lord.”

The room went as silent as the dead. When Hermione was nine she fell into the lake. Her lungs filled with water, as she struggled to breathe. Her father saved her from drowning but it was a feeling that she never forgot. The room was so tense at this moment, it felt as if all the air was gone and the occupants were drowning.

Lord Malfoy recovered, pale-faced and tight-lipped. He leaned forward, his voice quietly matching hers, “That’s not possible, Minerva. Muggles?”

“Jasper did as much research as he could. She is muggleborn, Lord Malfoy. Her parents were healers that died during a muggle plague. She has been showing signs of magic since she was a child.”

“Why are we only finding out about it now? She looks to be seventeen!”

“The village kept it quiet, my lord. With so many dying of the plague the Church sent Father Declan to the town to collect the deceased’s belongings,” she spat Father Declan’s name like it was a curse.

Lucius leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, “She will not be able to leave the castle until her magic is under control. I will have Draco begin tutoring her immediately. If she is as powerful as Jasper believes… I mean, good Merlin, she wiped out half a forest, not even Albus could do that!”

Hermione’s eyes widened in fear. Minerva patted her hands comfortingly. “Be calm, child. You were protecting yourself from Clayton. He’s dead by the way, he was impaled by a falling tree.”

Hermione shuddered at the thought of the horrible knight. Lucius nodded appreciatively, “One less evil in the world as far as I’m concerned. I’ve written a missive to Draco to return home at once.”

Minerva sighed. “He won’t be pleased.”

“My son rarely is,” Lord Malfoy replied. “Miss Granger, are you well versed in the alphabet?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Good. Minerva, take her to her quarters and explain everything to her.” 

Lord Malfoy returned to the missives on his desk, effectively dismissing them. Minerva rose and curtsied before leaving the room. Hermione followed her lead, trying very hard to stop her heart from beating out of her chest.

Minerva turned back towards the main hall. She took several hallways and then the stairs going up, up, up to the very top room in what Minerva said was the Northeastern tower. She opened a large wooden door and stood aside so Hermione could walk into the room.

“This is your room. Meals will be served in the laborer's hall at sunrise, sunset, and midday. Given your vocation here, the library will be open to you. A fair warning, our books are of magical origin and nature and are therefore dangerous. Your lessons will start after the morning meal and will end after the midday meal. You will help in the kitchens until supper. After supper, the young lord Malfoy will tutor you in his study on the third floor. Do not be late.

“As for the explanations on magic,” Minerva snapped her fingers and a stack of books landed on Hermione’s bed. “Read. You may find me in my study on the fifth floor in the Western wing. I will see you at dinner.”

 

Hermione launched herself onto the bed as soon as the door shut behind Minerva. She launched herself into the small stack of books that lay there. She read each of them cover to cover and then read them a second time. She was reading about Merlin and Nimue when she heard the call for supper. She put the books on the study desk in the corner and shut the window securely in case it rained. Straightening her dress, she hurried out of the room and down the stairs until she reached the first floor. 

Following a group of weary, but boisterous looking boys, she found the laborer's hall. She sat alone at the end of the long table and ate in silence. She wished she had brought a book, maybe -

Hermione blinked in surprise as she saw the faded pages depicted Merlin and Nimue sitting open in front of her. A book she knew she had left in her room. It was like… magic.

Realizing that no one was terrified and running after her with crucifixes, she opened the page and read over her meal of soup and bread. She was nearing the end of her book when she heard a loud slam. The noise around her ceased immediately and the people around her cast weary looks amongst each other. 

The door hurled open crashing loudly off of the wall. A hooded figure caked in mud stormed into the room, the lights flickering as he slammed his muddy boots across the hall's previously pristinely clean floors. Not a single noise was made as he stormed towards the long table. Hermione felt her body freeze as he stalked past others and straight towards her.

He was hovering over her when he threw his hood off, his grey ominous orbs facing her own. Hermione jumped back in terror over the bench and fell onto the floor, hard. She felt blood trickle down her side as bandages ripped open under her dress.

“You bitch,” rang a cold voice. Hermione stared at his eyes. His sharp grey eyes. Minerva said he was dead. Was it all a trick?

“Hey! You’re scaring her!”

He twisted his head back revealing silver hair,  “Shove off, Weasley before I make you eat your words.”

He took another step and she whimpered as she scrambled backward her boots scruffing loudly on the floor. She could hear noise rising in the room. People were shouting but it was all noisy blur, Hermione couldn’t make any of the words out.

Please lord, not again. Not again. I am not strong enough to withstand it again.

He was about to take another step when he was yanked back. 

“Enough, Malfoy! You’re frightening her!” A third voice shouted above the rest, there was a loud crunch followed by an impressive stream of cursing. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

The cold grey eyes whirled around in his robes, “Episkey it, Potter,” he said before storming out of the room.

There was a cracking noise and then more cursing. Hermione jumped when she felt a gentle pressure on her elbow. “It’s okay,” said a soft feminine voice. Hermione looked up to find a beautiful woman with flaming red hair standing over her. “My name is Ginevra Weasley. I’m going to take you back to your room.”

Hermione nodded in shock as Ginevra guided her back to her chamber. They didn’t speak the whole way to her room, nor when she helped her into her nightgown and into bed. Hermione shivered under her covers and Ginevra waved her fingers and a second blanket appeared over Hermione. 

She snapped her fingers and a fire lit in the fireplace. If it wasn’t odd enough, she opened her palm and a small vial appeared there. She uncorked it and handed it to Hermione. 

“This will help you sleep. I’ll speak to Minerva about excusing you for your duties tomorrow. Rest now, I will come and fetch you for the midday meal.”

Hermione drank the liquid and no sooner had it touched her tongue, her worries fled her mind and she fell into a deep sleep. As Hermione slumbered in another part of Malfoy castle, priceless objects were being blown apart by a young heir who was cursing her name and plotting his revenge.


	3. Pipes on a Rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the death of her parents, Hermione Granger is now a lowly peasant at the mercy of the Church. When they discover her Wiccan secret, what will she do to stay alive and will it be enough to save her from the grey eyed monster intent on ravishing her?
> 
> Thank you to my amazing beta and friend MrsRen!

Hermione woke to someone nudging her arm, “Hermione, supper is almost finished you must wake up.”

Hermione sat up, yawning. “Mumma?” she said groggily.

Her eyes focused on the kind red-haired woman from the day before. Her eyes were shining with tears. She was clearly distraught. Hermione straightened immediately. “Have I done something wrong?”

Ginevra shook her head, “I spoke to Minerva last night. I am so sorry about your parents Hermione and… and about Clayton. Muggles can be terrible.”

Hermione knew that muggle was the word magic folk used for humans or those that were not born to magic and did not have magic. Someone who was born of magical parents but did not possess magic, like Jasper, was called a Squib. There was no name for what Hermione was. Her name was written in the book with a question mark above it.

“I’m also sorry about Draco, he wasn’t happy about having to return to Malfoy castle. His father gave him a year of freedom before he has to settle down and take over the estate. See, Lord Malfoy isn’t just the Lord of Malfoy castle. He’s also the Minister of Magic. He rules the magical world here in England. He is currently discussing your situation with the rest of the heads of the magical families. My father left early this morning and he’s still not returned.”

“They’re talking about me?” Hermione’s voice was rough and Ginevra flicked her wrist, a glass of water appearing in it.

“Yes, see they have some of your blood from when they first found you and they are trying to ascertain if you are a bastard from a noble bloodline, or if you’re an anomaly.”

Hermione nodded in understanding, “Why does the young master Lord Malfoy despise me?”

Ginevra laughed. “Merlin, please don’t call him that. He is Draco and nothing else. Us magic folk are informal at best. The only Lord is Lucius Malfoy and Draco knows it. Draco is a relentless bully, but only if you let him. Don’t let him. If you did, I would have to hex him and my mother has begged me not to hex him.”

Hermione knew what hex was. It was unsettling hearing someone talk about it as if they were discussing the ever constant rain.

“Anyway, Harry, Ronald and I were going to go flying. Would you like to join?”

“Flying?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, on brooms. Did Minerva not give you a book on that?” Ginevra looked through her stack of books. “No, most likely Harry has the book hidden under his bed. He’s a pack rat that one.”

Hermione nodded wonder what a rat was packing and why her friend Harry had one.

“Well,” said Ginevra getting up off of the edge of the bed. “Get dressed so we can go.”

Hermione looked at her dress, it was stained with mud from the night before. Ginevra smiled and sat down closer this time. “Give me your hand, Hermione.”

Hermione obeyed. Ginevra placed her hand on the soft material on the dress. “Now close your eyes and feel the dress. Feel the fabric and the stitching, become one with the dress. Let it in.”

Hermione’s eyes fluttered closed as her fingers glided across the soft cotton of the dress. She felt the even stitching and the curves and dips in the fabric. Her mind was filled immediately with a vision of another dress. Her mother had a dress made for her fifteenth birthday. It was lilac and long with pretty flowers sewn into the hem and lovely lace trim around the bodice.

Ginevra’s gasp brought Hermione back to the present and Hermione closed her eyes after opening them. She blinked her eyes several times before standing in awe and touching the fabric of her blanket on the bed. The tower room had transformed into her childhood bedroom. Her pink blanket, the needlepoint that she never finished, and... Hermione hurried to the wall in front of her desk, there proudly on display was a painting of her and her parents when she was six.

“Mumma. Pappa,” she whispered as traced their silhouettes over the oil canvas.

“Your mother was lovely.” Ginevra murmured from her side.

“Thank you,” Hermione responded. Her mother was kind and compassionate. Her father may have healed the town's bodies, but her mother was a healer for hearts. Always with tea and a sweet cake for those in need, her door was always open. Her parents never turned anyone away.

“This is impressive magic, Hermione. Witches and wizards who have been practicing all of their lives couldn’t achieve this.”

“Really?” Hermione had made magic. Real magic on her own.

“Yeah, let’s go meet up with Ronald and Harry before they come up here looking for us. Merlin knows you're proper enough to be scandalized by men in your room.” Hermione blushed at the thought as Ginevra used magic to put her dress on, showing her how to do it on her own. Grabbing her hand, Ginevra propelled her down the stairs and out into the courtyard where laughter could be heard into the night.

Hermione woke the next morning with a headache. She grabbed the vial on the nightstand and knocked it back. It burned as it went down her throat, but so did the firewhiskey she drank the night before with Ronald Weasley. Ginevra was in a courtship with a young wizard named Harry Potter. Ginevra assured her that Harry was a well to do wizard, who like her was an orphan.

Despite her nervousness, the two became fast friends. Ronald was as nervous as she was and when the two were left alone they stood silently beside each other until someone suggested introducing Hermione to firewhiskey. Hermione wasn’t clear what happened afterward but she was pretty sure she used a broom to fly and that they played a game in the air while flying.

She wasn’t entirely sure how but she won the game for her team. This led to more drinking until she could no longer stand upright at which point Ginevra apparated her to her bedroom. She helped her to bed like she did the night before and left her a ‘sober up’ potion for the morning. Given how she was feeling now, Hermione was thankful.

Reaching out to her magic, Hermione let it fill her as her magic dressed and cleaned her. Hermione looked into the mirror and smiled. Her hair was pinned back and her dress was a deep blue with small white flowers. Hermione skipped down to the morning meal.

She was halfway down the stairs when she slammed into something hard. “Watch where you’re going! Wouldn’t want your dirt on me, you –”

“Draco, enough,” Lord Malfoy appeared behind his son. “Good morning Miss Granger, I trust you slept well?”

Hermione curtsied, “Yes, Lord Malfoy thank you for the room you have bestowed on me. I am most grateful.”

Lord Malfoy smiled, “It is my pleasure, Miss Granger. I trust your lessons are in order for today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, off you go. It’s important to eat and keep up your strength.”

Hermione curtsied once more before leaving for the laborer's hall. Hermione entered the hall, looking for her lonely spot in the corner. Today, she stowed a book safely in the pocket of her dress. She stepped into the hall and was greeted by a chorus of shouts.

“Hermione the great!”

“Greatest chaser in all of the history of magic!”

“Hermione! Hermione, over here!” Hermione looked to see a familiar head of red hair waving at her. She smiled shyly at the attention she was receiving and hurried over to Ginevra. Ginevra had two plates of eggs, bacon, and potatoes in front of her. She pushed the one that wasn’t half eaten towards Hermione. “I saved you some breakfast. You’re the talk of the castle. I haven’t seen anyone fly that fast since my brother Charlie!”

Ronald slumped into the seat next to Hermione, “Ginevra, that’s only because he was being chased by either mum or dragons”

Ginevra swished her fork around thoughtfully. “You do have a point.”

They laughed at talked about their day as Hermione ate her breakfast. Ronald made cauldrons and Ginevra bred owls. Harry was a knight for the Ministry of Magic, an Auror. While Ronald had started off with Harry, he found his calling in cauldron making.

After breakfast, Hermione found her classroom with the help of Ronald. Her students were sweet and excited for a woman teacher. Apparently, their previous teacher would throw chalk at them and yell and the teacher before that was a ghost. Needless to say, Hermione didn’t have to try very hard.

Hermione helped each of them spell out their names and practice writing them. She also gave them sheets of parchments with several short words for them to practice reading after supper. Lunch was as boisterous as breakfast and Hermione found a permanent place for herself next to Ronald, Harry, and Ginevra.

Hermione enjoyed helping Miss Winky in the kitchens. Minerva had not meant for her to actually work in the kitchens. She wanted the kitchen staff, elves, to teach her magic for cooking and cleaning should she ever need it.

By the time dinner came around, Hermione was ready to pass out from exhaustion. She barely ate as she pushed her food around her plate nervously. Tonight was her first lesson with Draco Malfoy. Ginevra said he was supposed to eat meals with them in the laborer's hall. Draco, according to Ginevra, was spoilt and rude.

This was evident as Hermione spent two hours waiting for him in his study. When she arrived and saw he was not there, she simply pulled out a book from her dress and sat down to read. When he arrived, she didn’t look up or acknowledge him. She was currently reading a book on potions.

She had already read several basic books on the subject from the library before dinner but his personal books were more advanced with helpful notes written in the margins. Ginevra, Harry, and Ronald helped her calm her down a bit over dinner but she was still nervous. Draco unnerved her.

“If you’re planning on reading through our lessons, find another tutor and don’t waste my time.”

“Seeing as you are two hours late to your own lesson, you can wait until I finish reading this paragraph.” Hermione quipped back before returning her book. In truth, she had finished the paragraph when he first entered the room but she didn’t want to start a new topic and then have to stop.

She counted to ten in her head before marking her place and placing the book on the table. Draco’s pale complexion was rosy with anger. “Shouldn’t you be teaching me, Draco?”

“Lord Malfoy,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Actually your father was very specific about your name being Draco amongst your peers.”

“You are not my peer. You’re just a muggle who has everyone convinced you can use magic.” Hermione stood. She was about a head or so shorter than Draco, but she felt taller than him. She remembered what Ginevra said about him. If she let him bully her now, he would never stop.

“You are a stubborn child, Draco Malfoy and I am not scared of you.”

“Well then leave!”

“Fine!”

Hermione picked up her book at stormed out of the room. She was so angry she took a walk about the muddy eastern gardens. It took her seven turns to finally calm down before she walked back up to her room, prepare her lesson for the next day and began studying charms and potions with the books she had in her room.

The day went more or less the same as the previous day, however, Draco didn’t bother to show up to their lesson at all. This went on for two weeks until Hermione met Lord Malfoy at a community gathering for a marriage union.

“I have heard your magic is developing nicely, Miss Granger. I am pleased.”

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy. I am quite fond of charms and transfiguration, but I guess everyone needs to know a good hex or two, wouldn’t you say?”

Lord Malfoy chuckled. “I am not embarrassed to admit, that the young Ginevra casts hexes that scare me.”

Hermione laughed. Ginevra was not someone to be trifled with. She had six brothers and was easily able to keep up with all of them, and one of them tamed dragons for a living.

“I am curious as a father though, how my son’s tutoring is faring? I honestly expected him to have quit already. Your remarkable progress is heartening.”

Hermione stopped smiling. Draco was taking her hard earned work and saying that he was teaching her?!

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I am not sure what you mean. Draco refused to teach me as he thought I was an imposter and a muggle. I have been teaching myself in the library and brewing in my room.”

Lord Malfoy’s face went from pale to red as a tomato in the summer to pale again. He looked like he had dozens of things to say but he settled with, “You’re brewing in your room? Hermione that’s incredibly dangerous.”

“Fred and George Weasley helped me set up a containment lab. In case my potion fails, though I’ve yet to have one fail, it won’t leave the containment field.”

“Do you stand outside the containment field?”

Hermione nodded, “The containment field is on the cauldron, sir.”

Lord Malfoy rubbed his forehead, “Hermione, child, you’ve aged me fifty years in the last five minutes.”

“That was not my intention –”

“I will speak to my son. I did not bring him home to drink his way through Wiltshire. Enjoy your evening and I am glad you have found friends in the Weasleys. They are a kind family.”

Hermione agreed wholeheartedly. Molly Weasley, the matriarch of the large brood, invited Hermione for an intimate tea every Tuesday and a loud boisterous family dinner every Thursday. It was a small slice of home and she adored it.

Smiling, she grabbed Ginevra’s hand and danced with her whilst simultaneously eating more cake than their bellies could handle. The night was pleasant and filled with laughter, the next day not so.

 

Draco was furious. Hermione had slept in and missed the morning meal, but according to Lavender Brown, Ronald’s betrothed, he broke the bench Hermione sat on every morning at breakfast in a bout of fury. Minerva was furious and dragged him into Lord Malfoy’s study by his ear. Lavender swore they were yelling at him for over an hour.

Hermione personally wondered how close Lavender’s face was to the door that she was able to repeat most of the conversation they had behind it. Ginevra snickered when Hermione brought it up at lunch.

Supper at the Weasley’s was a boisterous affair and Hermione was reluctant to leave. She landed her broom next to the eastern gardens and hurried up the narrow staircase, that had once been a servant’s entrance. Ginevra had promised to teach Hermione a shrinking charm that she used on her brother’s from time to time but also worked on brooms and objects you wanted to keep in your pocket.

Hermione hurried into Draco’s study. It had been so long since she was here. Minerva had taught her a spell that summoned books from different libraries all over the castle so that Hermione wouldn’t have to run into Draco again, but could keep borrowing books. Not that she said it in words, but her sentiments were clear.

Hermione was surprised by the cold wind as she opened the door. All of the candles were extinguished, but the fireplace that was burning very low. Something in Hermione’s bones called for her to run but she stayed. If Draco thought she was scared of the dark and would run, she would prove him wrong.

“Lumos,” she whispered. Smiling as the candles lit themselves. The room was still dark but at least she wouldn’t trip or fall. She walked into the room setting her cloak down on the back of a chair by the door.

“Thought you could get me into trouble with my father, did you?” Hermione whirled, but could not see him.

“Stop hiding and come out.”

“Why? Are you scared? Going to make up another scary story about evil wizards with grey eyes?” Hermione screamed as he jumped out, heavily cloaked in front of her. As Clayton’s eyes jumped in front of her. “Scared?”

Hermione stumbled back, her feet scuffing on the floor. She wanted her broom. She wanted her broom. She wanted to run. She wanted to run.

Draco sneered and sauntered menacingly towards her. He threw off his robes. He was wearing a suit of armor.

Hermione was drowning in her rage, gritting her teeth and summoning her magic. Books began to fly off of their shelves as gusts of wind came rushing through the windows. Chairs, desks, carpets, and picture frames flew around them in a cyclone of angry fury as she realized that he knew about what happened with Clayton and that he was using it against her.

Her eyes filled with hatred as objects escaped the cyclone and hurled themselves at him. He deflected the first couple of objects but she sent them faster and in a dangerous procession. Glass broke around his feet and shouts could be heard from behind the closed door.

“Alright! Enough!” Draco shouted over the winds.

“Enough?” Hermione asked, her voice quivering in fury, her angry tears spilling over her cheeks. “You try scaring me with a man that raped me and you think this is enough?!”

Draco Malfoy paled and froze mid-motion. A piece of wood hit him in the head, but he still stood frozen, staring at Hermione in shock. A new emotion colored his features and Hermione thought shame looked good on him. He was a disgrace to his family and embarrassment to his late mother’s memory.

In that instant, Hermione also knew, that he had no idea what he had done. He must have overheard a piece of a conversation or a rumor and acted on it. Whirling on her toes, she rushed towards the door the wind ceasing instantly behind her.

Hermione rushed from the room, passing an alarmed group of people at the door. She heard a loud bang as the contents of Draco’s study came crashing down around him. She heard several people call her name but she was already running up the stairs and to her room. She locked the door once she was inside, wrapping herself within the safety of her blanket.

Looking around the room that was identical to her childhood room, the room that always made her feel safe and loved, Hermione Granger felt alone and more miserable than she had been when she was in Father Declan’s dungeons.

When Hermione was four, there was a terrible frost storm. Mother and Father boarded up all of the windows and all huddled in the corner of Hermione’s room, while two of her neighbors huddled in the corner of her parent’s rooms.

Hermione took her blanket and dragged it into the corner of her room. Wrapping herself in warmth, she fell into a deep sleep. Although, not even in sleep was she free of fear as her dreams were plagued with images of demons and priests all trying to grab at her while she ran. Ran to be free of them all, ran to find her family who had left her behind.

 

Hermione woke with the sun in her eyes, again. A small groan came from the other side of the bed and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Ginevra, you really could just sleep in your house.”

Ginevra muffled before whacking Hermione’s knee. Chuckling, she got up and dressed. She had not seen Draco Malfoy since the day of the incident almost three years before and while she didn’t hate him anymore, she simply wanted nothing to do with him.

That was an easy enough goal, seeing as he no longer lived in their village. Infuriated at what his son had done, his father cut him off and sent him to work with his maternal aunt until he learned to respect those around him. He still had not returned and Hermione didn’t expect to see him again.

Hermione, however, still needed lessons and with Draco gone she was without a tutor. Minerva was convinced she was more dangerous now that she was practicing magic but had no idea how to control it. In the end, it was the ever-loving Molly Weasley who took up the burden of tutoring her. She had seven children and Harry to care for, but she still took in Hermione without any questions being asked.

“Yes, well mother dearest is trying to force me wed Harry,” replied Ginny petulantly from under Hermione’s blanket.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she laced up her boots, “I thought you liked Harry.”

Ginevra ran her hand through her hair, “I do! I just want to marry because I want to, not because my mother does.”

Hermione shrugged and left for breakfast while Ginevra fell back asleep. She ate quickly and left to set up her lessons. They were doing a practical exam today and she was excited.

Her students were lined up at her question-based obstacle course, that involved reading, writing, history, and general skills. She watched and cheered as they stumbled but each passed the exam. She was sweat-soaked, despite numerous cooling charms, when Dennis Creevey finally ran passed the finish line.

“Mister Creevey, you did very well! All of you head inside and take a much-deserved break. Tomorrow there will be no formal classes but ice cream and a swim at the lake. I will not –” Hermione’s voice froze in her throat as she saw grey stormy eyes staring at her from the main entrance. Eyes that had once been filled with so much anger and were now… closed off? “–er, class dismissed.”

The students hurried out and Hermione waved her wand that Molly had bought her for her birthday the year before. She cleared away the obstacle course, returning all of the items to their proper places.

“Miss Granger,” Draco greeted, he shifted his weight from foot to foot looking incredibly unsettled. It unnerved Hermione.

Hermione eyes darkened, “Draco.”

“I see you set an exam for your class.”

“Astute observation.” Draco pinned his elegant arms behind his back, his fingers clasped together at the base of his spine. “Is there a reason you interrupted my class?”

 

“I was under the impression it was completed.”

Hermione clenched her fingers tightly beneath her long sleeves. What did he want?

“Miss Granger, my father has informed me that you have planted snowdrop flowers amongst the eastern gardens.” Hermione nodded, they were her mother’s favorite. “My late mother was very fond of those gardens.”

“I can have them moved –”

Draco waved his hand.“I should like you to give me a guided tour of the gardens you have built.”

Hermione swallowed a gasp. “I don’t understand,” she said slowly.

“After supper tonight at the main gate, if you are free of course, I should like you to show them to me.”

“Of… of course,” Hermione stammered. His face as unreadable as it was when he first arrived, he bowed and left.

Hermione stood there in shock, replaying the conversation over and over. A polite conversation between friends occurred during the breakfast and tea hours. Anything after was… informal.

 

“Hermione, can you pass the scones? Hermione? Er, Ginevra, I think there is something wrong with Hermione.” Conversation ceased around the table. Thursday nights were Weasley family dinner night and Hermione had barely spoken a word. She arrived early and helped Molly finish cooking and set up for the meal without so much as lifting an eyebrow in emotion.

“Dear, she has been awfully quiet this evening. Hermione, is everything alright, you’re not ill are you?” Mrs. Weasley stood to fret over her second daughter.

Whispers of concern began to break out throughout the table as Hermione continued to gaze at the candle in front of her. There were little bulbs of blue light along the pathways in the eastern gardens. Lady Narcissa had charmed them there herself and even decades after her death they were still present.

“Draco Malfoy asked me to show him about the eastern gardens.” The table went momentarily silent as everyone stared at Hermione in shock until Mr. Weasley piped up.

“Yes, I heard he returned last night. Made quite the fuss, he did. His father is still out of town though I’ve no idea why he would want to see the gardens. He hasn’t been back since his mother passed.”

“Well, they were his mother’s gardens. Maybe he wants to make sure Hermione has pitted pikes with his face charmed bleeding to death on them,” muttered Fred.

Mrs. Weasley whacked his head, “There’s no need to fuss, Hermione, I can go with you if you would like. Is it in the afternoon or the early morning? I do hope he accommodated your teaching schedule.”

Hermione tore her eyes away from the candle very aware of the plain dress and boots she was wearing, “He asked to meet me after dinner.”

Cutlery clattered onto dishware and something shattered to Hermione’s right, likely Ron’s glass or Lavender’s excitement at the gossip.

“What?”

“At night?”

“Improper is what it is!”

“This cannot be –”

“Why would he even ask Hermione? Everyone knows she hates him!”

Hermione felt Ginevra tug on her arm as she yanked her out of the family drawing room and up the rickety stairs towards her seldomly used bedroom at the Burrow. When the door was securely locked, she turned on Hermione.

“Okay, spill. What happened?” Hermione dutifully told the girl everything that happened, sparing her no details. While she spoke, Ginevra fixed her hair and weaved a ribbon in it. “Was he nervous? I’ve never seen Draco Malfoy pace, or unsettled and we grew up together.”

“It was bizarre. I almost don’t want to go.”

“Speaking of, you’d best get going.”

Hermione opened the door a drop, letting the angry voices filter in. Ron’s was the loudest of all.

“She cried for weeks, mum! Absolutely not, she is not going!”

Harry’s wise voice piped up, “At least an escort, Mum. Send her with Ginevra, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.”

Ginevra snorted from behind her. Hermione closed the door turning around to find Ginevra standing on the window sill. “Are you insane? Get down!”

Ginevra winked and climbed over the window and onto the sloped roof. Had Hermione not been so full of nerves, she would have laughed before following her friend out the window. Sighing, she pulled up her dress to her boots and climbed after Ginevra.

Sitting on top of the roof sharing a smoking a pipe was Charlie and Ginevra. Hermione learned in her first year in the village, not be surprised at the unconventional things Ginevra did. Witches and Wizards were much more easy-going than the rest of the world. Hermione wondered if they would ever catch up.

“So, Ginevra tells me you need a broom to fly to the eastern gardens,” Charlie said conversationally between puffs of smoke. “Meeting a boy, are we?”

Hermione steadied herself as she walked towards them. “You know your mother would have a heart attack if she saw you two up here.”

Ginevra smirked and took another puff, “It’s why we don’t tell her.” Hermione moved closer to them and sat down. “Well don’t sit, you’re leaving!”

Ginevra’s broom came racing towards them and Hermione caught it with an ease that had been hard earned. Casting a warming and modesty charm, she took off into the night and towards the eastern gardens.

She smiled as the wind blew through her hair, tugging at the pins and setting them free as her hair tumbled down past her shoulders. Hermione wished she could live like this. Free in the air. Free to tumble, to freefall, and to land all on her own.

She set her broom down gently next to the side entrance of the gardens. Shrinking the broom, she placed it in her pocket before stepping into the gardens.

She walked in silence for several moments, her only guide the floating blue flames and her memory. Noticing a snowdrop that was drooping, she crouched low and summoned wooden sticks to hold it up and applied them to the stem. She was in the process of standing when she felt a warm hand help her up.

“Thank you,” her voice died when she saw the eyes that were so prominent in her nightmares. She withdrew her hand and slipped it in her pocket. “I apologize. I was to meet you at the main gate.”

“That is quite alright, it warms me to see that someone is taking care for one of my mother’s favorite part of the castle.”

Hermione nodded too nervous to speak. She really did love these gardens. It was one of her safe havens and she could see it from her room. She wasn’t sure if she could handle Draco being the one who took them from her.

“Miss Granger, I must confess I did not ask you here tonight just to view the gardens.” Hermione felt a shard of ice lodge itself in her throat and spear right through her chest. Good lord, if he asked to court her and she refused would she be cast out from the village? Would Lord Malfoy himself take it as a slight? Would they take away her magic? “I came to beg forgiveness of you for the grievous error I made the last time I saw you. I confess, I do not expect you to accept my offering although I hope you would.”

Unsure of what to say and completely blindsided, Hermione stayed silent and he gestured to a long wooden bench with ivy about the legs. She sat quietly, as he paced in front of her nervously awaiting an answer. He was working himself up to saying something else to her, but Hermione was tired and wasn’t sure how many shocks she could take in one day. Right now, she wanted to go back to her warm bed with a book.

She wanted to go back to where it was safe.

She looked up to see the moon was high. She sighed loud enough for him to hear her. He stopped pacing and looked at her with fear in his eyes. Why was her forgiveness so important to him?

“I will consider your offer, although it is late and I am tired. I have no doubt Ginevra will be waiting for me before bed and I have students to teach tomorrow. I will be turning in for the night.” She stood and he politely walked her all the way to her room in an elongated awkward silence. Hermione was several steps from her door when it swung open and Ginevra poked her head out.

“What did the royal prince of ass- Draco! I didn’t… er… fancy seeing you here?” Grabbing Hermione’s arm she yanked her in the door and slammed it in his confused face.

Ginevra collapsed on Hermione’s bed crying about her woes and misfortunes. Hermione giggled, still as confused as ever and snuggled into Ginevra’s side. No, Draco Malfoy definitely didn’t want to court her. He was hiding something and Hermione was going to find out what.

Hermione didn’t see Draco Malfoy for several days after their late night walk in the eastern gardens. Word was that he left before sunrise, to join his father at the King’s side. The mystery that was the infamous and elusive Draco Malfoy kept Hermione awake at night and often she wondered where he was and what he was doing.

She also wondered if she should forgive him. Everyone had their own extremely vocal opinion on the matter, but Hermione entirely decided on her own. It was hard to accept an apology from someone when you didn’t know them at all.

It was three months later when he finally returned to their small village. This time, he knocked on the Weasley’s door during dinner and asked if he could once again, see Hermione in the eastern gardens after supper. He left before she could give him an answer and Hermione watched his receding shadow as the table erupted around her.

Ronald pitched a fit, that not even Lavender could talk him out of. It had taken both Harry and Molly’s combined efforts to calm her friend down, while Ginevra snuck Hermione to the roof again.

“Are you sure you want to go, Hermione? You don’t have to.” Hermione watched as Ginevra took a large puff from Charlie’s pipe. Her elder brother had left two months back and they hadn’t heard from the dragon tamer in several weeks. Hermione had been brewing calming draughts for Molly, as the woman had not been sleeping since her son’s disappearance.

He wasn’t the only one. The village felt emptier these days. With Lord Malfoy gone away for royal business the last several months and the aggressive recruiting for the Ministry of Magic’s Auror department, it seemed as if the normally busy town was as silent as a graveyard. Ronald had been talking about becoming a Knight, or an Auror for the Ministry again. Lavender, however, refused to allow him to rejoin.

The increase in recruitment was because of some tense scuffles with the Church, that everyone tried not to bring up around Hermione given her history with Father Declan. She hated being coddled but at the same time, she adored that her friends cared enough to think of her.

“Yes, Ginevra. I would like to put the entire situation behind me. I will hear him out and then I will put him out of my mind forever.”

Ginevra nodded. “Well, off you go!”

Hermione mounted her broom and took off. This time, she planned on waiting for him at the entrance. When she landed, he was standing under the entryway rubbing his hands together.

“On time, I see?” Draco started at the sound of his wand. His wand was drawn defensively as he searched for the source of the voice. When their eyes met, he relaxed and pocketed his wand once again. The entire interaction happened so quickly, Hermione wondered if she imagined it, it was also extremely telling.

“You startled me,” he accused. Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I have spent many sleepless nights thinking on our last conversation. I wondered if you did the same.”

Hermione walked towards the bench they sat on last time. It was, coincidentally the same bench that was beneath her window. They sat in silence for several minutes before Hermione responded, “Yes, I must confess I did. I’m confused as to why you asked for my forgiveness in the first place.”

Draco ran his hand threw his silvery hair. Hermione noticed him in a way she had not noticed him when he appeared at the Weasley’s doorway during dinner. His hair was unevenly cut and the little bits of skin she could see were littered with silvery scars of wounds that were not healed properly or done too quickly.

“I… I had a terribly lonely childhood. My mother… I lost her so young and my father was too in love with her to have remarry. I never had any siblings to be companionable with and spent most of my time by myself in my library. I fear my upbringing made me terribly angry and overall unpleasant fellow to be around. I had not realized how far I had fallen until that day in the study. I… the look on your face haunts my nightly dreams,” he ended of in a whisper. Hermione sat patiently as he unburdened his soul.

“During my stay with my aunt, I learned a great many things. I saw a great many things. I grew into a man I hope my father would be proud of. ”

“Forgive me, what does your aunt do? I assumed she ran a shop.”

Draco ran his hands through his hair. “No, my aunt Andromeda is a Healer.”

Hermione shuddered. There were whispers that the King of England was no longer satisfied with witches under his ruling. There whispers that Father Declan had become the Archbishop and was intent on wiping out magic from all the world. Hermione usually ignored those whispers, however, looking at Draco at his scars beneath and above the surface she realize they were most likely not rumors at all.

“War is coming, isn’t it?”

Draco viewed her like one would a curious bird or small child. “It is already here. I have been serving the Minister as a spy for the last two years.”

Hermione gasped. “Why would you come back? Where is Lord Lucius?”

“There is to be a battle. I believe it is to be the final of our kind. If we are victorious, we will be able to go in hiding and live on. If we perish, so will our kind.” Draco studiously avoided her concerned gaze.

Hermione’s hand covered her lips, in an attempt to stay her tears. “Why?”

“They fear our magic –”

“No, why come back?”

Draco rubbed his hands together nervously and settled in next to her on the bench. “I overheard but a snippet of a conversation that morning. Minerva told my father that you only took orders from those who had eyes like his and wore shiny armor. I didn’t hear her explain why and in my foolishness I did not stop to think that it was because you were afraid. I did a terrible thing and I do not wish to go into battle with this grievance left behind.”

“You are asking me to cleanse your soul?” Hermione asked in surprise. How could she do that? She was unholy. She was a witch.

“No, I do not think I can ever cleanse my soul for there are some crimes that are not redeemable.”

“What do you ask of me?”

“To hold my soul for me, for a little while at least. So that I might go out and fight and not worry that I have lost it along the way.”

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears. These were the words of a man who did not believe he was coming back. She lifted a quivering hand and pressed it gently on his shoulder. “I would be honored if you would allow me to add a stipulation.”

“Anything you ask, Miss Granger.”

“Return,” she whispered feeling the blue lights flicker brightly around her. They illuminated his face making the hard planes of his cheekbones soft and his cold eyes, warm. “You must return to us amongst the living.”

“I cannot promise this,” he replied solemnly his eyes returning to his lap. His eyes were shining in the moonlight and all at once Hermione understood.

“How long has it been since your father passed?” she whispered.

“Almost three months. He left to sign a truce with the King, though it was a trick. They killed him and the Aurors that were with him. Very few know about his death, we fear panic amongst the magical community will be our downfall.”

Hermione nodded her head trying to place all of her friends. The more names she went through, the more came up missing. “Minerva?”

“Killed whilst trying to evacuate Hogwarts along with most of the teachers. She died along with the second to eldest Weasley son.”

Hermione closed her eyelids as her eyes began to sting with unshed tears. She would not cry. A comforting hand lay gently on her shoulder, “You will not lose your family again, Hermione,” he said tenderly. “I swear it.”

Hermione’s tears overflowed as she let her sadness overtake her. Draco’s arms draped around her shoulder in much the same manner as Ginevra often did, however, when Draco repeated the simple motion Hermione felt her stomach tighten into knots. It was as if a group of small butterflies had taken flight there.

“I will make the vow.”

“Are you sure? It is a vow most like the unbreakable vow,” he replied, his arms not leaving her shoulders.

She reached out his embrace and took his hand into hers, “I, Hermione Granger adopted daughter of Molly and Arthur Weasley will bind myself to you in order to hold your soul for you, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco smiled his eyes alight amidst the swirling blue flames around them, “I, Draco Lucius Malfoy son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy will surrender my soul to yours, Hermione Granger, for safekeeping until I can return and retrieve it.

Their hands glowed for several moments as the vow took hold. Leaning over, he lay a gentle kiss on her forehead. Hermione shuddered when their eyes met. “I wish you could stay. I would like to get to know this Draco Malfoy. I think I may like him.”

“I think you might,” Draco smirked before growing serious. “I leave now for war, Hermione and I leave you with what is most precious to me, my soul.”

“Not your heart?”

Draco stood and walked towards entryway where a group of Aurors, including all of the male Weasleys and Harry stood. He turned back as he approached the archway of snowdrop flowers.

“Since the moment I met you, you’ve already had it.”

 

She watched them leave, tears slipping down her cheeks. She barely noticed when Ginevra slipped into the seat next to her, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red. They held hands tightly as the night passed towards morning and the sky lightened with a new day.

Dawn was fast approaching, but so was war.


End file.
